Beyond the Dark Sun
by Lord Tangerine
Summary: OC, an occultist from our world, finds himself pulled in unexpected and not entirely pleasant directions. After all, sometimes the best Pact is the one you don't make.
1. Prologue -- Lilac and Gooseberries

Beyond the Dark Sun

Author's note: I've been seeing a bunch of Planeswalker SIs lately and decided to add my own two cents in. This one involves a protagonist who is an "occultist" in our world – that is, someone who (somewhat successfully) dabbled in the supernatural before being transported elsewhere. Story will also posted on SB.

Hope you enjoy!

Prologue – Lilac and Gooseberries

The tower prison cell was a definite improvement to the earlier accommodations. The room was deceptively opulent, with the large stained glass windows providing a spectacular view to the bustling metropolis below. The living space was covered in expensive furs and silks with a prominent black and white motif – a design feature present everywhere from the expensive-looking rug and furniture and luxurious draperies to the clothing worn by the sorceress currently examining herself in the bedside mirror. The woman in question was strikingly beautiful, and radiated an aura that was captivating and menacing in equal measure. Not a single flaw marred her perfect skin. Not a single jet black hair was out of place. She possessed a youthfully perfect, pale triangular face with shapely lips and cold, violet eyes: the kind of inhuman, hauntingly flawless symmetry that could only be achieved as a result of High Magic rituals. Her equally flawless shoulders and shapely neck were accentuated with a diamond-encrusted choker necklace in the shape of an inverted pentagram – an undoubtedly powerful magical focus that was doubling up as a tastefully understated fashion accessory.

The sorceress sighed as she turned away from her reflection. The room may look opulent – a comfortable prison – but she knew it was a prison nonetheless. Only the Emhyr's good graces and her apparent usefulness kept her surroundings comfortable, but she knew that she was in no position to refuse the Emhyr's hospitality.

A knock on the door interrupted the woman's reverie. The sorceress finished fastening the straps of her black leather boots and stood up. Even in high heels, she wasn't impressively tall, barely reaching 5'4, and yet she had a certain strength of presence, and aura of expertly restrained power that frequently caused noblemen and seasoned war veterans alike to instinctively move out of her way. She opened the door to reveal the stoic figure of the Emhyr 's Chamberlain.

"I trust the Lady Sorceress is well rested. His Imperial Majesty requires your services. The Lady will follow."

The Chamberlain spoke in a confident, neutral tone that brokered no opposition – they both knew how things stood, and that she was in no position to refuse the "request." The sorceress allowed herself to be led, and was surprised when, instead of a throne room, the Emhyr chose to hold the meeting at an outdoor courtyard adjacent to the tower.

His Imperial Majesty was a tall, imposing man and held himself in a confident manner befitting a ruler of the largest Empire in the world. He currently had his back to the doorway and was calmly watching the spectacular sunrise over the ocean.

The Chamberlain cleared his throat and began the formal introduction:

"His Imperial Majesty, Emhyr var Emreis, Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd, King of Cintra, Lord of ..."

Without turning around, the Emperor sharply raised a single finger, cutting off further formalities.

"Leave us."

The tone brokered no disagreement, and the command was obeyed instantly and without hesitation. Now alone with the emperor, the sorceress involuntarily swallowed, her tension palpable. Their mutual history was complex, but whatever the reason for this meeting was, it was in regard to an important subject matter – so important, in fact, that Emhyr was not willing to risk being overheard.

She approached cautiously, waiting to be addressed first, as the protocol dictated. After a tense few seconds that felt like an eternity, the Emperor finally spoke.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" And it was; the view from the Imperial Palace truly was breathtaking. "I find myself humbled at times, knowing that Nilfgaard rules half of the known world … and by what must come to pass. Knowing that my own grandchild is destined to rule all of it. Knowing that all that we have achieved will be nothing in comparison to what the next generation shall accomplish."

The sorceress involuntarily stiffened, her complexion growing more pale than usual as the blood drained from her face. If what she suspected was indeed true, it would certainly explain the need for secrecy, but surely he couldn't mean…

" **She** is back." The Emperor turned to meet her eyes, and the Sorceress knew that her suspicions were accurate.

"Ciri..." she whispered, before composing herself and meeting the Emperor's gaze. "When?"

"My wayward daughter appears to have arrived several days ago. I knew the minute she entered our plane, of course – as you know, the mages I have gathered can cast some of the most powerful scrying spells in the world, and it is absolutely imperative to locate and protect her quickly. However ..."

The sorceress was only half listening to the Emhyr's words as the full impact of his statement washed over her, and her intellect raced ahead to connect the dots. _Days._ He knew that Cirilla was back for _days_ and he was only telling her now. Why? She had an attachment to the girl and treated her as an adopted daughter, and Ciri's Elder Blood made her a target wherever she went. Did Emhyr think her feelings would compromise her ability to perform? He never intended to tell her until Ciri was safe in the Capital. He must have used his access to dozens of high-level mages in order to attempt to locate Ciri without her assistance. But he was telling her now – that means the efforts failed. Oh gods, the something must have gone wrong! What… The train of thought cut off as the Emperor's words soon confirmed her suspicions.

"...We've had… complications. Walk with me."

They were walking now, slowly descending the stairs to the dungeons. They stopped in front of one of the lower cells usually reserved for "special" guests and the sorceress involuntarily shivered at how close she herself had come to occupying a cell like this one.

The Emhyr continued while one of the torturers hurriedly struggled with the chains binding the door.

" **It** was summoned as a result of one of the experimental rituals. The ritual in question was supposed to summon a spirit of knowledge – instead, it seems to have produced a fully corporeal, human summon. The mages in question – now executed, of course – didn't wish to report their apparent failure, so they quietly passed the summon over to the torturers for interrogation."

The door squeaked open to reveal a ghastly sight. Chained to the wall and bound from head to toe in what must have been _Dimeritium_ alloys was the dirty, bruised, burned, and utterly broken, but unmistakably _human_ body.

"The incompetent whoresons tortured the wretch for two days before the chief interrogator figured out that it didn't speak a lick of Nilfgaardian."

The sorceress gasped as the prisoner's single remaining eye met her own, and the dungeon filled with a raspy sound of what could only have been laughter.


	2. Chapter 1,1 Madness and Harmony

Chapter 1.1; Madness and Harmony

" _And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music._ " - Friedrich Nietzsche

I've always thought it interesting that most adults do not believe in the supernatural; not truly. Even the faithful, church-going people who continually preach about the afterlife look at the accounts of supernatural occurrences with skepticism and contempt. People learn to live as the "proper members of society," lest they be thought mad and locked up in mental institutions. They learn to self-censor and rationalize away any strange or unusual occurrences they see. They learn to dismiss away omens as coincidence; learn to laugh at children's stories of monsters as flights of fanciful imagination. That movement out of the corner of their eyes was no poltergeist, but merely a brush of wind! That noise or flash was surely not a ghost, but merely a trick of the light! The miraculous recovery from the terminal illness – merely a lucky break rather than Angelic intervention... After all, some of them will say, there is no such thing as angels, ghosts, or poltergeists, just like there is no such thing as invisible pink unicorns or flying spaghetti monsters.

Children, on the other hand… well, children are an entirely different matter. With fresh eyes and an open mind, children are almost uniformly able to look at the world and see the truth. They are willing to accept and call magic by its proper name – before society tells them to grow up. To children, what we call the "supernatural" is a fact of life, a truth they instinctively know is a part of the way the world works.

For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated by the supernatural, and I recall my own "initiation" into magic clearly, as if it were yesterday. I must have been five or six years old at the time and, like most kids my age, I through that stage magic – the kind of tricks performed by Harry Houdini or David Copperfield – was the real deal. Being inspired by one of the televised stage performances, I decided to give things a try myself. Of course, it was a little hard to choose which "stage act" to perform, since I was largely lacking in props… But eventually, I chose to perform the classic "make an object disappear and reappear" trick, and, having acquired a cardboard shoebox and a shoelace, I promptly got to work.

My proposed approach to this monumental physics-defying feat was very simple. I put the black shoelace into the empty cardboard box, closed the lid, waived my hands over it like a "proper" magician and wished really, _*really*_ hard, willing the shoelace to disappear.

"Abra Kedabra!" I spoke with the confidence and naïveté only a child my age could have hoped to muster.

Of course, when I opened the box, the shoelace was still there, having stubbornly refused to cooperate and disappear into the oblivion of nothingness. I was undeterred. To me, who has seen the evidence of magic's existence with my own eyes, the ability for objects to disappear and reappear from closed boxes was as real as the sun rising each morning. Surely I only needed to try again, to try harder, and I too could replicate the marvelous feats of the stage magicians! After all, if they could make a Rabbit or even a Person disappear, a mere shoelace couldn't be all that difficult?

And so I tried once again, and then yet again when the shoelace stubbornly refused to budge. Now that I think about it, I must have looked truly comical if someone would have walked in on my efforts. Each new attempt would have made any adult in my place question their sanity. Any reasonable person who knew even the basics of physics would not have attempted my "trick," or would have given up immediately after it proved unsuccessful. But I was a mere child, what did I know? My belief in magic and my own abilities was absolute, my resolve to succeed unshakable. And so, I tried again. And again. And again. Half a dozen attempts became a dozen, then two dozen, and still I kept going. Now, you must be asking yourselves why my exploration into the supernatural didn't simply end here – after all, everyone knows that what I was attempting was impossible. And, ordinarily, this is exactly what one would have expected to happen. In attempting the same impossible feat and failing time after time, one would expect the child to eventually learn the utter ridiculousness of what they were attempting. This in turn would lead to the eventual realization of the nonexistence of the supernatural and the understanding of the "true nature of the world."

Except that wasn't what happened.

After one of my "attempts," (which, to my young senses, appeared to be completely unremarkable and in every way identical to every other), the Universe must have developed a sense of humor and decided to cooperate with me, for, when I opened the box, I was greeted with a very pleasant vision of success! The shoelace was gone!

Thinking back, from what I remember of my thought process back then, I never felt even remotely surprised to have succeeded – after all, I was confident in my abilities and fully expected to _eventually_ get the "trick" right; I simply didn't know enough to comprehend the sheer, physics-shattering _impossibility_ of the occurrence. No, what I felt was actually moderate elation! "OK," I said to myself, "it took a little while, but you got half of the act right. Now, you should practice the other half so you can move on to the really _interesting_ tricks." Unfortunately, my efforts to make the shoelace _reappear_ back in the box were not successful, and my parents soon interrupted my "game," sternly telling me that shoes were not toys for me to play with.

The other early occurrence that stands out clearly in my mind is from the night my Grandmother had a heart attack. I was around thirteen years old at the time and was living with my parents when the dreaded call came in. My mother immediately flew out to the hospital, and my dad stayed home with me. From what I overheard, grandma's condition was very serious; she was unconscious, and the doctors weren't sure she was going to make it. I hated feeling powerless and knew I wanted to do something, but wasn't sure what I could do to help. I knew this wasn't going to stop me, though, because I would be damned if I was going to stand by and do nothing while a person I loved died.

And so, I responded by doing something utterly and monumentally stupid. Being only vaguely aware of concepts like "the soul" or "life force," I decided that I was going to heal Gran… by transferring away my own life to bolster hers. I laid down on the bed, closed my eyes, and envisioned a tendril of pure white energy emerging from the center of my chest, then traveling to Gran's hospital room and connecting to her. It shouldn't have worked, of course. Regardless of the fact that such "quackery" is widely considered to be impossible, this would have been the first time I even tried to touch my own "life force" – I had no idea what I was doing!

And yet, in the Moment, I knew without a doubt that I would succeed. I could feel the tendril connecting, and immediately felt myself weakening as my life force pumped away into the ether. First, I gradually felt exhaustion as if I had just run a marathon, then I started to feel faint and nauseated, and even began to develop prickling pains in my chest. Yet, I refused to give up and pushed past the sickness and growing discomfort, steadfastly keeping my energy flowing through the widening connection that hungrily consumed all that I had to give. It was only after the phone rang and I overheard my Dad excitedly talk about the good news (my Grandma was already up, alert and speaking with the Doctors) that I allowed myself to fall into an exhausted – but contented - sleep. By the time my Mom made it to the hospital, fully expecting to find the worst when she got there, she instead found my Grandma awake and alert: apparently healthy enough to head back home after a brief observational period.

My Gran died peacefully in her sleep more than twelve years after that night, and I never told a single soul about what I did.

Naturally, there have been several other, less memorable incidents over the years – objects appearing in unexpected places or moving about on their own; unusual and remote happenings comparable to the chances of winning the lottery jackpot… Knowing myself, maybe I still would have "grown out" of magic and written all of the above incidents off as strange coincidences or the fancies of a child's imagination… had it not been for that final "push" that happened during my freshman year of college. My first experience with the so-called "High Magick," however, was so powerful and profound that it almost literally threw me into the deep end without a life jacket – after that night, I knew, intellectually and deep in my heart, that there would be no turning back.

Like most halfway-decent stories, this one begins with a girl. Her name was Ashley, and she was my first college crush. She had luscious red hair, perfectly proportioned face with the brightest green eyes you've ever seen, and a certain… pulchritude to her callipygian regions that still gives me pleasant memories even to this day. Believe it or not, we bonded over our mutual love of Metal music. Ash was going through a "rebellious" phase at the time, while I felt that college was the time to reinvent myself and find like-minded people… Naturally, we hit it off right away.

After we've been dating for a few weeks, Ash invited me to the annual Metal festival near Denver, CO. Naturally, I agreed to come along with great enthusiasm, although how much of that enthusiasm was due to the music itself and how much was due to sex with a gorgeous and energetic young woman I will leave to your imagination.

Many of the bands present played "Black Metal" with anti-religious and anti-establishment themes – fairly normal for the genre and, I believe, this festival in particular. However, out of dozens of "normal" metal bands seeking to break into the "bigtime," my Ash somehow managed to find the one band in the bunch whose members weren't content to simply _sing_ about "taboo" themes. No, they wanted to _live_ the rebellion - by performing a demonic summoning ritual live, on stage, right in the middle of their performance. Naturally, Ashley was instantly hooked on the concept and promptly volunteered herself to be the "living sacrifice" for the demonic possession.

Despite having an increasingly bad feeling about the whole arrangement, I convinced myself that nothing was going to go wrong – after all, this was all in the name of good fun (and I am certain that wanting to look _cool_ and _masculine_ for my new girlfriend had absolutely nothing to do with my reaction, no sir, nothing at all). What was the worst that could happen?

And thus, I ended up having a literal front-row seat to the spectacle of my girlfriend being possessed by a high-level demonic entity. There are no words to precisely describe my feelings about what ultimately took place; I can only try to describe what I saw in the hopes that you may understand some fraction of the _truth_ about the event.

The stage was set up in an outdoor auditorium, deep in the mountains. The band had five members on stage, with the lead singer, guitarist, base player, drummer, and another Idiot dressed in ornate robes, who was responsible for actually performing the ritual as well as walking around the stage while playing an ornate, steel Biker Bell (and yes, the irony of using a tool used for scaring off demons while simultaneously attempting to **_summon_** ** _one_** was not lost on me at the time). Wearing nothing but black adhesive tape that strategically covered her nether regions, Ashley was placed upon a makeshift altar at center stage; her luxurious red hair looked a little like spilled blood upon the Altar's black velvet cover. I stayed silent and watched the song (which actually wasn't half bad) and ritual progress… when things suddenly got Weird. As the ritual progressed to its culmination ("come forth, Lord Bael, come and possess your sacrifice!") that masterfully coincided with the main solo of the song, I suddenly experienced something I will never, ever forget.

Have you ever brushed your hand against the screen of an old-style color TV set, or perhaps a heavily charged piece of synthetic fabric – the kind where the built-up static gives you a tingly feeling and makes the little hairs on your arm stand up on end as you brush past? The physical sensation I experienced during the ritual was conceptually similar to that, but was around an order of magnitude greater in intensity. It felt like my whole body was plunged into an unadulterated ocean of pure **_power_** , which I dimly realized was gushing forth from the Altar - and the very distressed, screaming, thrashing form of my girlfriend upon its surface (the Idiot with the Biker Bell was still prancing around, screaming for his "Bael" just off to her right).

Seeing Ash in distress quickly got me out of the haze of my sensory overload, and I moved to help her. However, before I could do anything to get her the hell out of there, something in the air noticeably **_shifted_** , and I experienced the second shock of the night.

With a spectacularly loud CRACK, the steel Biker Bell, normally hung under motorcycles to scare off "road gremlins," split in two, with the Idiot in the Robe staring dumbly at the handle in his hand as the pieces of his impromptu "instrument" scattered in every direction. The sea of static I felt earlier was rapidly pulled in Ashley's direction, and I could tell something was suddenly different as she stopped thrashing around and her body language _changed_. As the final notes of the song sounded, she lifted her body and stood up with an impossible grace, calmly observing the listeners below as if nothing had happened.

After a brief moment of silence, the crowd went absolutely Wild, and the cheers were deafening! As I slowly made my way through to Ash, I considered that she may have known the band and that the whole stunt may have been planned well in advance. I thought about what I was going to say to congratulate my girlfriend on her spectacular acting performance and, with a smirk, further thought about what I was going to do to "punish" her in private for scaring me half to death. I saw a flock of red hair out of the corner of my eye and moved to intercept, calling her name. I still consider what I saw when she turned around to be one of the most terrifying experiences of my life.

Her body moved with a predatory grace more appropriate for a feline or a meat-eating avian rather than a human. Her body language and facial expressions were… _wrong_ , and I could find no hint of affection – or even _recognition_ – in her gaze. As the stranger's icy gaze met my own, the only hint of emotion I could perceive was a feeling of superiority coupled together with an utter _contempt_ , as if the base creatures before her weren't worthy to lick her boots, let alone speak her name.

The emotions you experience when you see a person you deeply care about look at you that way… the feeling is indescribable. As she moved past me, I realized, in complete shock, that the ritual I just saw was _real_. That Ash was _gone_ , and that the stranger – no, the _thing_ _wearing her body_ – that passed me just now _was not her_. That I had no idea if I could ever get her _back_ … a thought that terrified me to the core of my being.

The possession wasn't permanent of course – as I later learned through proper occult study, the makeshift "ritual," if you could even call it that, didn't have nearly enough power to achieve such a monumental metaphysical feat. In fact, the spiritual power and willingness of the "sacrifice" was the only reason why it lasted as long as it has, or even succeeded in the first place… But I didn't know this at the time, and even if I had, the knowledge would have provided me with little comfort.

When Ashley – shaking like a leaf, with her teeth cluttering, and her body covered in a layer of cold sweat – finally found and embraced me nearly half an hour later, we both knew that our lives would never be the same. When I asked her if she was alright and if she needed to go to a hospital, she explained to me _why_ she felt the way she did – and her response filled me with an even more profound terror. She told me that she _liked_ the feeling of being possessed, that Bael had expanded her mind and filled her with so much physical strength that she had genuinely felt invincible, as far above mere humans as a person is above an amoeba. She consciously clung to the feeling and refused to let the Demon leave. And when the King of Hell finally left, the shock of feeling human – _mortal_ – again was such that she felt physically ill from the mere knowledge of how utterly _insignificant_ her human shell was compared to the Greater Powers of the universe.

Ashley's explanation gave us both much to think about, and we sat in silence during the drive back to campus as we both contemplated our choices. Ash eventually decided to stay as far away from "dark rituals" as possible – in fact, from the last I heard of her, she had moved back in with her Catholic parents and eventually joined a convent. But for myself, the experience had the opposite effect. The Concert had stirred up half-forgotten memories of a little boy smiling victoriously after doing the impossible, memories of a teenager sleeping happily after having saved a grandparent he loved…and just a hint of a vision of a possible future in which a young man had achieved and surpassed the power of a God. I looked deep inside myself and found a sea of unshakable resolve, a resolve not to run from, but to embrace my destiny, and make that future a reality. After all, I smirked, given all that I have already done and experienced, what is the worst that could possibly happen from some formal occult study?


	3. Chapter 1,2 Faustian Bargain (part1)

_Chapter 1.2; The Faustian Bargain (part one)_

" _The Greatest Virtue is not to be free, but to struggle ceaselessly for freedom_." –Nikos Kazantzakis

When it comes to the concept Demonic Pacts, I've always been fascinated by the old stories and legends on the subject. One of the most prominent stories that comes to mind is the German legend of _Faustus_ , or _Dr. Faust_ , as it is known in modern times. Although there are many versions of this particular story, the basic premise is always the same: a middle-aged man, usually a successful doctor or another sort of professional, sets forth in a quest for _power_ from forbidden sources. The protagonist's reasons for doing this are varied: some stories speak of a terminal illness without known cure, others of an imposingly large monetary debt; others still say that _Faustus_ was simply disillusioned with daily life – however successful it may have been – and hungered for something _greater_ than his current existence. Whatever his reasons may have been, _Faust_ delves into the Occult and, eventually, makes a Pact with a Demon by the name of Mephistopheles – in exchange for the protagonist's soul, Mephisto grants Faust with monetary wealth, knowledge of languages, arts, and sciences, and host of fabulous supernatural powers, including flight, telekinesis, teleportation, telepathy, and transmutation of matter, among others. Faust spends several years in luxury and prosperity, creating fabulous works of art, accumulating fantastic monetary wealth, and learning the secrets of the Universe… and this is where the stories begin to fundamentally diverge.

The "politically correct" Judeo-Christian version of the story underscores the very meaning of the concept _Faustian Bargain_ as "the willingness to sacrifice long-term prospects for a brief, short-term gain." Predictably, according to the Christian version of the story, _Faust_ has been irredeemably damned by bargaining beyond mortal's reach, and his newfound wealth, knowledge, and power are utterly useless in the face of the inevitable. When Mephisto finally returns and tells Faust to "pay up," the protagonist's soul is violently seized and cast into "the Great Void," to dwell in the emptiness of non-existence (or worse) for all eternity. A later, more PR-friendly version of the same tale has the protagonist praying to God, who then sends the Virgin Mary to intervene at the last second in order to save the "newly repentant" Faustus and deliver his soul to heaven…

But, there exists a third version of this story. Performed before the Catholic Church decided to edit the plot to have a "proper" Christian ending, this original _Faustus_ ballad has a very different moral from the other two versions. In the original story, Faust's wealth, knowledge, and power continue to grow, but the protagonist refuses to be content. Rather than sitting back and enjoying the fruits of his pact, Faust instead hungers for more and more, eventually going as far as ascending to Olympus itself, and beyond. Eventually, the protagonist meets the Hellenic gods, some of which oppose (and are then promptly defeated by) the sorcerer, while others stand in open awe of the power and apparent divinity the protagonist has secured for himself. It is there at the apex of Olympus, after having met and even surpassed the gods themselves, that Faust finally experiences a single moment of true happiness… Ah, naturally, I am rather fond of the traditional, uncensored version of _Faust…_

Which brings us to the story of my own _Faustian_ bargain – and I must say, it was surprisingly anticlimactic. Imagine for a moment that you are able to get your hands on power – not that pagan, New Age crap, but real, tangible, metaphysical power that is able to deliver real results. Let's say, for a moment, that you are able to summon Demons, Angels, and Spirits to do your bidding; powerful cosmic entities that are able to bend the very reality of the world to your will. What would you do with that kind of power?

My first Summoning was an _Opis Fortunae,_ a minor, goblin-like "treasure spirit" from the domain of the Earth, whose Name and Seal I found in a relatively obscure _Book of Treasure Spirits_ sold at the local Half-Priced Books. The book insisted on an incredibly complex summoning ritual involving at least three concentric circles with strange symbols, seven different kinds of incense, robes with exactly 33 silver buttons, an ornate silver athame, and a belt made from genuine lion skin, among other ridiculous details. Of course, having personally seen Ashley possessed from the actions of a half-baked amateur "ritual," I knew the book was probably full of crap about the requirements. And so, I opted for a much simpler setup involving me dripping a few drops of blood on a makeshift altar while chanting the Spirit's name and willing it to appear before me. My approach...was far more effective than even I dared hope.

The book said not to expect the summoned spirit to be visible to the naked eye. Instead, the instructions listed several "signs of a successful summoning" involving things like a "charged atmosphere," a "sudden change in temperature," "a strange smell" "jumping candle flames" and "incense swirling to make strange shapes in the air" (because incense smoke doesn't _normally_ do that _at all_ ). My result was a bit more dramatic. I summoned a little girl. A very mischievous little girl. With hooves.

After I got over the initial shock of my success, I began to perform experiments. _Opi_ , as I've since named her, was as solid to my vision as any other person… but she could not be captured on camera – digital or otherwise – and did not show up in any reflective surface. Nor was she visible to any other people, although cats seemed to be strangely attracted to where she was standing. At this point, I considered that I might simply be insane – after all, what was more likely, that I could summon _spiritual entities_ or that I had a perfectly common, in no way extraordinary, case of _schizophrenia?_

Being a bit of a skeptic and scientist at heart, I decided to take a very practical approach to that question. Since the book claimed _Opi_ was a "treasure spirit," I commanded it to take me to where hidden "treasure" was located… which she promptly did with great enthusiasm…

In retrospect, I really should have specified a place that _wasn't_ a money drop-off point for a 211 Crew meth lab.


	4. Chapter 1,2 Faustian Bargain (part2)

_Chapter 1.2; The Faustian Bargain (part two)_

" _There are known knowns. These are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns. That is to say, there are things that we know we don't know. But there are also unknown unknowns. There are things we don't know we don't know._ "

–Donald Rumsfeld

I honestly don't know what I was expecting when I ordered my Adorable Little Familiar (TM) to take me to a "hidden treasure." I suppose that, when most people think of treasure, they think of _Pirates of the Caribbean_ types of things, with large oaken chests full of gold coins, outlaws, and treasure maps with X marking the spot. Evidently, this is not the kind of thing _treasure spirits_ think about in modern times, which makes all kinds of sense in retrospect.

 _Opi_ led me directly to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. The place was a positively _charming_ industrial building complete with peeling paint, broken windows, ample graffiti, and a rusted, padlocked chain that was barely keeping a set of half-rotten doors from falling open. And I was willingly walking into it while talking to an adorable hooved schoolgirl only I can see... Oh well, there didn't seem to be any people around at the very least, so, I suppose there could be worse places to be at 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning?

I park the car and get out, anxious to get my impromptu expedition over with as quickly as possible. _Opi_ can be seen ahead and slightly to the left of me, happily bouncing towards the side of the building without a care in the world.

"Hey, _Opi_ , are you certain this is the place?" I am greeted by a jingling laughter that reminds me of coin and rainbows.

"Of course it is, silly! I know _all_ the good places – the treasure is just over there!"

I let out a sigh as I climb in through the broken window and lift up the loose board _Opi_ points out, painfully scratching my left hand against a rusted nail in the process. Damn, at this rate, my "treasure" is just as likely to be a tetanus infection. Maybe I should look into seeing a psychiatrist?

Those thoughts all come into a halt when my hand brushes up against a rather bulky, rubber-banded zip-lock bag… a zip-lock bag that is stuffed with tightly-packed twenty and one hundred-dollar bills. My first thought is shocked disbelief – somewhere in my mind, I still thought it was more likely that I was crazy; that magic wasn't real at all. But, unless I am straight-up hallucinating the small pile of money currently sitting in my hand (something I will most definitely verify in Las Vegas later this week, for entirely scientific purposes of course), magic is indeed real. Which means the adorable, smirking little demon in front of me can really lead me to money! Come to think of it, who abandons this kind of money anyway? I am getting a funny feeling in my stomach that has nothing to do with winning the lottery.

" _Opi_..." I unsuccessfully try to keep my voice level, "...is this place, that is to say, is it ... _safe ..._ for me to be here?"

The little demon has the nerve to shrug and giggle – to _giggle_ – while twirling her hair. " _Safe_? You never asked me if it was _safe_ , silly! Besides, I'm just a low level treasure spirit! I only know the places where treasures are kept, not if it's safe to retrieve them!" The damned creature looks genuinely smug now, as if she just told the funniest joke in the world and I was the punchline. You know, I don't think my Adorable Familiar is so adorable any more…

 _Shit_.

Earlier I've thought about why someone would abandon this much money. The answer is, they wouldn't. I've read about places like this – entire organizations used to get caught all the time when exchanges in drugs and money got busted up by police. So the gangs started getting smart and minimized their exposure. To protect themselves from the cops and pesky, snitching eye-witnesses alike, they started setting up places like this one – seemingly abandoned, rotating drop off locations in gang territory that provided the protection of anonymity to everyone involved. In fact, the famous meth cook Walter White (the real guy, not the Breaking Bad character named after him) was able to spend _years_ as a successful wholesale dealer without even once seeing any of his buyers' faces, or having a single in-person conversation!

Thanks to drop-off locations like this one.

The one I am at right now.

With a bag of money in my hand.

Let me just put that back and get the Hell (ha ha) out of here before the – I squint to read the graffiti on the opposing wall – 211 crew (?) shows up to collect their paycheck…

Aaand there goes that bright idea ... I hear the distinct noise of an approaching car with way-too-many sub-woofers in the trunk.

Parking next to my vehicle.

Cutting off my only real escape route.

I push aside the giddy feeling of oncoming hysteria as I look at the still giggling child-demon. " _Opi_ , I don't suppose you can offer me a bit of help here?"

"Oh, _silly_ , I'm not a..."

"DON'T EVEN say it! If I hear you saying that you are not a Combat Demon, I SWEAR, I am going to find a way to beat your demonic…"

***


	5. Chapter 1,2 Faustian Bargain (part3)

AN: IGORRR! It's _aliiiivvveeee_!

" _Make no mistake about it, Demonic Pacts can be a powerful – and indeed, indispensable – tool in the journey toward Supremacy. Yet, the Pact is not a path that is a good fit for everyone. The issue is not in that Demons are smarter than the Magician – although this is usually the case. Nor is the issue in that Demons are said to be "malevolent" and capable of twisting the bargain beyond its terms as originally understood – although this is usually the case as well. No, the true problem lies in that the psychology of the most powerful Demonic Lords is utterly incomprehensible to mortals: these beings exist, think, and plan not in days, weeks, and months, but in hundreds, thousands, and tens of thousands of years. The sheer scale and complexity of Demonic plans is such that the full consequences of any given Pact are practically impossible to anticipate. Thus, to be prepared to enter into a Pact means to be prepared to see the World burn. Ironically, this is a price many practitioners accept quickly and willingly – after all, surely the World has already been through this and far worse."_

– Alexander Earlheart, _Darker Magicks, A Practical Survey for the Serious Practitioner_

It is amazing how sheer adrenaline and the threat of imminent death can motivate you to think faster. Here I was, out in the middle of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the Industrial District, with my 9mm still in the car and my only real exit cut off by apparent drug dealers who probably would not appreciate me being within 100 yards of their cash…. I forcefully pulled myself together, showing my growing panic to the back of my mind.

I was far from helpless.

To start with, I have just proven to myself beyond a shadow of a doubt that magic was _real_. This meant that I was a practitioner of an art capable of altering the _fabric of reality itself_ – a winning trump card if I ever heard of one. As if that wasn't enough, I still had a goddamned (pun intended, thank you very much) Demon in the room with me. Granted, with her Adorable Schoolgirl (TM) image, _Opi_ didn't look like much, but I knew better than to underestimate the little spirit now. Adorable or not, "combat demon" or not, she was still a being capable of altering reality. Even better, being bound by the blood I used to summon her, _Opi_ would have no choice but to try and help me if I commanded her to do so.

I knew that I definitely made a mistake by not providing _Opi_ with clear instructions after I summoned her – chalk it up to lack of experience. But, despite the lack of actual practical experience with many of the magickal spells and techniques I've read about, I am still a practitioner (Magus? Sorcerer? What the hell are we called anyway?) who knows quite a bit of theory. It is time to use that knowledge to get out of this mess.

Now, if I take _Opi_ at her word, she can't fight in an effective manner. Also, if I trust my reading of _Earlheart's Compendium,_ as an Earth-Domain Spirit, _Opi_ also can't make me move faster or outright teleport me out of harm's way, as these are the abilities traditionally granted by the domains of Water and Air respectively (and wasn't _that_ a thought for another time? Could I actually learn how to _teleport_?). However, there are allegedly more than a couple of "areas of specialization" Earth spirits were very, _very_ good at.

One of these rumored areas was defense, the ability to protect from harm. Indeed, ancient cultures who have historically believed in Earth spirits have sacrificed to them in order to gain the "blessing of the Earth," such that the land itself would protect those who lived on it. A sacrifice to the Earth was also considered a priority for conquering cultures, for it was considered impossible to hold captured territory in a region where the spirits of the land itself were hostile to the occupying armies. Naturally, the practice of such ritual blessings extended to smaller geographical areas too, including cities, important buildings such as temples, residential areas, and even individual rooms! Beliefs that Earth spirits can offer protection aren't limited to ancient times either. In fact, even in modern times, some homes in Russia still have little dedicated shrines with bread and milk offerings for the _domovoi_ , Earth-domain home protection spirits that were _theoretically_ in the same power category as the _Opis Naturae_ I summoned. The _domovoi_ were said to be able to protect the house they resided in from fire, pestilence, and theft, and could supposedly help the residents to stay healthy and strong. While I didn't know the extent of _Opi_ 's full defensive capabilities, I could command her to use whatever means she had at her disposal to keep me safe, and she would probably have to try. My gut was telling me she could do _much_ more than her looks and demeanor would suggest.

Another area of specialization Earth Spirits were widely known for was concealment. According to _Earlheart's,_ the more powerful Earth spirits tied to sections of land are able to obfuscate the landscape, disorient large groups of people, and make entire armies walk around in circles until the starved, frozen, and exhausted soldiers fell down where they stood, dying quiet, whimpering deaths in the middle of some gods-forsaken bog. While those abilities scale down with the spirit's rank, even spirits as relatively weak as _domovoi_ are rumored to be able to perform minor concealment magic. Low ranking or not, _Opi_ was still, technically, an Earth domain spirit – surely she should be able to manage _something_.

The car outside stopped and there was a telltale sound of an opening and closing door – I didn't have much time. The interior of the ransacked, gutted interior of the warehouse was mostly wide-open space that didn't leave much room for hiding. Nevertheless, I felt that hiding was my best option at the moment. I hastily got behind a half-crumbled pillar and hissed instructions at _Opi_.

"Conceal me if you can, and use all possible means to keep me safe."

I felt a chill go down my spine after _Opi…_ seemed particularly upbeat after that instruction. Giggling like mad, she twirled in place before dissolving into a small, smoky-looking dust-devil. The new form promptly dissolved, covering the area in a thick layer of dirt and a sickly-sweet aura of _something else_ that felt to my senses as simultaneously ethereally light and unusually heavy, like trying to move while submerged in pancake syrup.

Then, the half-rotten, crumbling door flew off the hinges, having been violently kicked in from the other side.

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Jonny has been a member of 211 Crew for eight years now, with five of those spent in the Pen. It all began after he was first sentenced for Possession With Intent to Distribute – 20 kilos of hydro was difficult to talk your way out of unless you had the D.A. and Judges on the payroll. Jonny chuckled to himself, recognizing the irony of weed now being legal in Colorado. Five years of his life. That's what he got after he got caught inside a "large-scale production facility." He was 19 at the time – a young adult with big dreams and even bigger ambitions. Jonny was going to make it big, become successful, and get his future family out of the trailer park he grew up in. He was going to _be somebody_.

And then, just like that, his dreams came crashing down to Earth. He was arrested after his asshole "friends" ratted him out to the cops in exchange for a plea deal. Jonny refused to be a rat himself and got sentenced to eight years, being let out after five for "good behavior."

Five. Fucking. Years.

The years Jonny spent in the Pen did not exactly make him an upstanding citizen – instead, he came out a hardened criminal and a respected gang member with the connections and network befitting his new status. You see, Jonny's prison was a cesspit dominated by Black and Hispanic gangs – a very dangerous place to be for a friendless White kid like him. After yet another White inmate was violently shanked, a prisoner in Jonny's cell block started discreetly spreading rumors about the existence of a White gang in hopes of curtailing the racial violence. The idea worked far better than inspected: soon most of the White inmates in the prison began to eagerly inquire about joining in hopes of gaining a modicum of protection. As the members of the new gang known as 211 crew were released, they recruited fresh blood from the streets, and the gang's manpower and notoriety grew from there. At the time, joining seemed like a no-brainer to Jonny, and, as one of the original members, he was able to work his way up to a respectable position in the overall hierarchy. When Jonny got released from the prison himself, there was a high-risk but well-paying job waiting for him.

As with any other job worth having, being a gang member had its benefits, which only increased after the Crew's recent alliance with the Aryan Brotherhood. In exchange for giving up some autonomy, the Crew got access to the Brotherhood's manpower, firepower, and, more importantly, to their extensive Production and Distribution Network. Many of the Marijuana operations hired attorneys and got licensed as legitimate enterprises. Proceeds from the sale of LSD, Crack, Meth, Angel Dust, and several new designer drugs kept a steady flow of cash to pay off the cops, lawyers, and Judges, and to pay a stipend to the families of the arrested gang members. Hell, these days, Jonny even had Dental coverage.

Jonny smirked and turned up the radio as he drove to his destination: crime did pay after all; in fact, it paid very well.

Life was good.

Jonny's smirk wavered when he saw a car parked next to the abandoned warehouse that housed this week's drop site. Did a rival gang member somehow discover the drop site? Did someone rat them out to the cops? Or was this one of those ridiculous "urban explorers," simply out at the wrong place and time. He reached for the comforting grip of his thirty-eight as he pulled up to the entrance. Whoever was there would be found and interrogated – and, he thought grimly, he might have to put them down if necessary.

Jonny walked up to the crumbling warehouse door and kicked it off its hinges.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I dared not move or even breathe as the apparent gangster burst forth through the warehouse doors. He stood at about 5'10, shaved bald, with a nondescript, forgettable face and very muscular physique. He was dressed in an unremarkable combination of jeans and t-shirt that could be found at any Walmart, and could likely be mistaken for a simple blue-collar worker if not for his aggressive body language and even more aggressive firearm pointed my way. I felt true fear as his gaze and gun faced directly towards me, but then the "hazy syrup" in the air become just a little heavier, and my would-be attacker's eyes took on a slightly glazed expression. Then, he proceeded to completely ignore my presence, instead walking directly to the hidden cash.

HA! Take that, you _Muggle_. Magic is freaking AWESOME!

Alas, my brief feeling of triumph subsided quickly. I fidgeted and absently rubbed my palm as the gangster slowly lifted and examined the cash. I had the distinct feeling I was forgetting something important. Then, as I looked down at my _bleeding_ palm and felt the concealment aura dissolve like a bad dream, I finally understood my mistake. I cut my palm on a rusty nail as I climbed in through the window. A few drops of my blood got onto the zip-lock bag with the money. Blood that I used to bind _Opi_ to my will. Blood that the armed gangster was now _touching_.

The stranger shook the figurative cobwebs out of his head and promptly stared right at me. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression morphed into one of angry disbelief.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" The gangster exclaimed as he quickly stood and brought his weapon to bear on my position.

"PICKABOO!" Replied the giggling voice of a demonic schoolgirl sitting on his shoulders. _Opi_ was gently covering the stranger's eyes with her hands. She smirked at me in the most adorable way as she viciously sank her razor-sharp teeth into his earlobe.

"What the FUARGHHHHH!" The gangster was temporarily blinded, disoriented, and in pain, but he was still armed and extremely dangerous. I knew this advantage was temporary at best. Luckily, I was already in motion.

I was no MMA fighter or all-star athlete, but at 6'1 and 185 pounds of (mostly) muscle, I still packed quite a punch. Rushing my opponent at full speed, I clocked him right in the jaw before he had a chance to reorient himself. I sped past the bandit before he could get up, trying to reach my car and leave as quickly as possible. As I fumbled with the keys, I heard the distinct sound of a 44' Colt Anaconda revolver being cocked behind me, the gun and its wielder visible through my peripheral vision. I had the distinct feeling that I wasn't getting out of this alive. What a stupid, idiotic, utterly _foolish_ mistake. I _knew_ this was a cash pickup operation for an organized criminal syndicate. Of _course_ the guy in the warehouse would have brought backup, to act as a lookout and extra insurance if nothing else. The revolver was aimed at my head as I turned to face the shooter.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

And Time _Stopped_.

I don't know how else to describe the occurrence. One second I was facing my would-be killer, and in the very next instant, the world and everything in it became utterly _still…_ with the notable and fortunate exception of my own body. Behind me, I heard a distinct sound of clapping and melodious laughter.

Turning around, I saw – no, _beheld_ the most _beautiful_ being I have ever seen. Legs crossed and swinging to the beat of otherworldly music only she could hear, she was perched directly on the roof of the gangsters' pickup truck. Her charcoal-black skin was flawless and without blemish, her gloriously nude and _very_ feminine form glinted with intoxicating otherworldly oils, purple tribal tattoos, and strategically placed drops of moisture that promised untold pleasures and forbidden delights. Her long, silvery-white hair had the texture of fine silk and liquid moonlight, and fell down over her front in a way that only accentuated her impossibly symmetrical curves. Her regal face held an amused expression that spoke of playfulness and superiority, and her striking red eyes faintly glowed with an unrestrained passion and unparalleled power. She was crowned by a set of _glorious_ horns and a pair of absolutely _enormous_ (leathery grayish-white, with dark gray veins) glowing wings sprouted from her back.

The being spoke first.

"Oh _well_ done, mortal. Would you just look at the wonderful mess you've gotten yourself into."

Hearing her melodious voice was like tasting a mixture of tiny bells, early morning air after a rainstorm, and liquid starlight. I absently suppressed the urge to kneel down and offer my service for an eternity in exchange for hearing that sound just one more time.

"Forgive me, I do not mean to offend… but who, exactly, are you? And how are you here?"

Her expression went through a ghost of a disappointed frown before she gave me a wide, satisfied smile that had me shivering despite the outdoor heat.

"Oh, you silly, _silly_ boy… That is just adorable. Did you really order a low-tier blood-bound demon you summoned to use _any means_ to keep you safe and expect said demon _not_ to call for reinforcements from its superiors? That was quite an interesting ritual you performed, by the way – I don't normally deal with the small stuff personally unless evoked by name, but then, I haven't dealt with a sorcerer willing to sacrifice his own blood in _centuries_. You were so interesting, I just _had_ to take a look for myself."

She gave me a knowing smirk before disappearing from the truck's roof. I felt a warm, soft body pressing into my back as her arms encircled my torso, and was paralyzed as I felt her passionately husky voice whispering into my ear, her soft breath sending shivers of fear and arousal down my spine.

"You broke protocol, you know. Summoners are expected to ask permission from a corresponding Demon Lord before summoning spirits from their realm."

I felt the blood freeze in my veins at that little revelation. I thought getting executed by 211 Crew was Bad, but this? This was immeasurably worse. By doing a seemingly innocuous summoning from a second-hand book on treasure spirits, I have -apparently- pissed off a Demon Lord powerful enough to freeze time.

"How does the whole time-freezing thing work, anyway?" I said, turning to face the Demonic Mistress. "Is it brute-force space-time manipulation or do you just cast a glamor at all the observers to make them _think_ time is running in slow motion?"

Eh, well. If I am going to die horribly anyway, I may as well indulge my curiosity.

She blinked in apparent incomprehension before releasing me and bursting out in genuine laughter - whether it was at my bravery, stupidity, or the utterly absurd timing of my question, I can only guess.

"Oh, but time is such a fun thing to _play_ with," she pouted "does it really _matter_ what means I use to amuse myself?" 

"You amuse me, mortal," she said, not waiting for my response. "I am **Lilith** , Dark Lady of Fire and Earth, and I wish to offer you a deal you'll be disinclined to refuse."


	6. Chapter 1,3 Having a Bad Time

**Chapter 1.3: Having A Bad Time**

" _A close second is not a desirable place to be in a battle to the death."_

 _ **\- Chiun the Magnificent, Master of Sinanju**_

My mad laughter cut off as the Sorceress touched my forehead, her spell introducing searing pain into my mind. While my time in Emhyr's dungeons couldn't have been considered pleasant by any stretch of the imagination, this experience was _different_ because it introduced a level of _mental_ agony that vastly surpassed mere physical pain. I was fading out of consciousness and back within my mindscape in moments.

I promptly found myself on a secluded beach, staring up at an ever-shifting moonless sky, which glinted with strange nebulae and untold numbers of galaxies. I idly ran my hands through the white "sand" (which, I noted on closer inspection, was made up entirely of tiny animal bones,) before slowly getting up to look at the Ocean, and the enormous approaching storm I could see there.

According to the magick books I've read, the midscape is supposed to be the ultimate meditation technique, allowing a Magician to reach and, eventually, _control_ a mental representation of his or her mind and soul. It is supposed to take _years_ of regular, dedicated meditation practice in order to be able to consistently reach one's mindscape, but, it appears I have (re?)discovered a much faster way to success. That's right, folks! For the low, low price of a few days of _unspeakable agony_ you too could be the proud owners of a functioning mindscape of your very own! But wait, there's more! If you call now, we will include a _free gift_ , a mind-rape, courtesy of Yennifer of Fucking Vengerberg!

I mentally shook myself and forcibly pushed the waves of encroaching madness back beneath the surface and into the dark depths of my soul. The analogy was uncannily accurate, because my mindscape consisted of a small, secluded island in the middle of a vast, raging black ocean of _blood_. Over the many subjective hours I've spent here, I have grown used to the symbolism. The human mind is shaped by its experiences, so, I guess it is only natural that, after the horrific torture I got subjected to, I would end up with a fucked-up blood ocean mindscape.

I must admit, though, it's not all bad - this place kinda grows on you. For such an… eccentric and turbulent area, being here was a strangely serene, almost _zen_ , experience. Standing on the shore and looking out at the horizon, I could see an approaching storm. Greenish-purple lightning strikes made distant mamoth blood-waves, taller than skyscrapers, glow with an eeriecrimson light, while several water (blood?) sprouts sent up clouds of red mist visible from miles away. The majority of the mostly-barren Island was dominated by an absolutely massive dark-purple Tree bound in ginantic tarnished chains; a Tree which stretched upwards as far as the eye could see in some kind of a grotesque parody of the Yggdrasil. Twisted crimson leaves and thorny, brightly-colored flowers that remind me of an unholy cross between a Venus Fly Trap, Boston Terrier, and a Pterodactyl completed that lovely image.

I idly noted that it started to rain, the drops of blood from the clouds of my mind mixing with strange motes of purple light which, I assumed, represented the foreign magic of Yennifer's spell. Ever since I arrived in this strange new world, I was able to feel magic in a way that I've never felt it before. Compared to my home universe, the sheer amount of ambient power idly floating around here… the closest comparison I can come up with to illustrate the difference in scale would be spending a lifetime thinking a Cup full of water was impressive before suddenly being dropped into an Ocean. Unfortunately, despite being able to feel that ocean of power surrounding me, I could not quite grasp it. To continue the analogy, the sensation was comparable to dipping a latex-covered hand into a swimming pool. You know the water is there. You can feel it against your skin. And yet, no matter how much you move around or how hard you try, your hand will never get wet as long as that latex glove stays on. It was incredibly, maddeningly frustrating. I knew the source of the problem, of course – I've known immediately after I've seen Yennifer and the Emperor of Nilfgaard.

Dimeritium.

The metal is a known counter for mages in this world, and apparently works by generating a kind of dampening shield that disrupts access to mana on a fundamental level. Even a tiny bracelet or amulet worn around the neck is said to be able to render even a powerful sorcerer as harmless as a kitten... And the Nilfgardian bastards have wrapped me in a veritable cocoon of Dimeritium chains.

No matter; I refuse to give up. If I could get out of these chains, even for a single moment, I would show Emhyr's men just what someone able to do genuine magic in a comparatively "null" environment of my home universe can do if given access to REAL power. Besides, I have yet to tap into the potential of this mindscape. I probably created this place subconsciously as a sanctuary to which I could escape from the pain, but, as I examined this bloody island of mine, it certainly seemed to have power of its own.

I glanced at the approaching storm and shuddered at the giant waves got closer to the shoreline. If this ocean corresponds to my life force,could I sacrifice some of that life force to fuel a spell? Dimeritium may interfere with access to ambient power, but, would it interfere with aspell that was fueled entirely by internal energy? I thought back to how powerful my summoning spell became when I used a few drops of my blood to materialize Opi, and, later, _Lilith_. I smiled grimly as a plan began to take shape in my mind – the bastards certainly made me bleed, a mistake they are unlikely to regret for long.

Touching one of the falling motes, I grimaced as new knowledge burned itself into my brain. A languages spell, huh? Interesting. I guess Emhyr wants to keep me alive for a bit longer, and maybe interrogate me with some actual questions I can understand, for once? I hope he doesn't mind me declining his hospitality in favor of better accommodations – while the stay has been fun, I don't intend to stick around for longer than it takes me to figure out how to break out of these damn chains. And I am not above summoning a whole legion of Demons if I have to, either, Witcher 3 Canon be damned.

No. Calm. I could feel the _madness_ welling up again and absently pushed it back down below the waves; it simply wouldn't do to act rashly in this situation. Looking up at the sky, I could see more motes, green ones this time. A healing spell? No, not exactly - this was more of a re-invigoration spell, something like a metaphysical cup of coffee. Huh, it looks like someone is impatient to speak with me. Well, I guess it is best not to keep them waiting.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Yennifer of Vengerberg was nervous, because she did not have much time. Emhyr has left after giving her instructions to perform a language spell on the summoned prisoner. The ridiculous Dimeritium chains around the subject made even her magic sluggish and difficult to control, but she managed to make the spell work through direct, skin-to-skin contact. Her task finished, she was expected to leave the prisoner to be interrogated by competent professionals. Unfortunately, she could not allow this to occur before first speaking to the man personally. The ritual used to summon the prisoner was supposed to bring a "spirit of knowledge" with information regarding Cirilla's location. If there was even a slight chance that this man knew of Ciri's whereabouts, she could not afford to lose the opportunity to speak with him. Given the man's apparent condition only added to the urgency, as she doubted he would be coherent, or even alive, for much longer.

Yennifer managed to buy herself time alone with the prisoner by claiming that this particular spell was both complex and delicate, requiring several minutes of uninterrupted casting in order to avoid frying the prisoner's brain. The gambit worked, and she estimated she had 20 minutes to a half-hour alone with the man before her extra-curricular activities arose undue suspicions. Yennifer directed a mild invigorating spell at the unconscious prisoner, wincing at the amount of power even that simple magic was taking out of her. The man stirred almost immediately, his one eye flashing with a myriad of emotions. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice, dry and hoarse from endless hours of screaming, was not quite up to the task. The sorceress quickly presented him with a wooden cup of water, which was quickly and gratefully gulped down.

"Yennefer of Vengerberg," he spoke in a half whisper, "that was a wonderful bit of spellwork, but, I am sure you are not here for a casual chat. To what do I owe the _pleasure_ of such distinguished company?"

"You know me." A statement, rather than a question; one whose tone demanded a prompt explanation.

"I know _of_ you, yes. Dandelion's ballads of your exploits have reached many ears, in this and many other worlds."

"Other worlds? You are not of this world, then?" She already suspected that the summoned man was not of this world, and his latest statement confirmed her suspicions. Hope blossomed in her mind. By virtue of her Elder Blood, Cirilla was in possession of a power known as the Gate of the Worlds, the ability to move through time and space at will. If this man was truly from a different world, it was possible that he had knowledge of where she was. Maybe he even met and spoke with her at some point in the past?

"The ritual that brought you here wasn't meant to summon a person, but rather, a spirit of knowledge. Do you know how you came to be here?"

The man's remaining eye glazed over briefly in remembrance, and he smiled mysteriously."Who knows? Maybe the mages performing your ritual screwed up. Maybe the stars were aligned incorrectly. All I know is that I am here, and I would rather be elsewhere. Is it really necessary to restrain me so? I am no threat to you, and mean you no harm."

The sorceress paced impatiently. "If you know me, then you may know of the one I seek. Cirilla. Do you know where she is?"

The man laughed his raspy laugh again. The unsettling sound sent chills down Yennifer's spine.

"Ah, the Ashen Haired Girl. The Lady of Time and Space. If she is the one you seek, then I may indeed be able to help you. I'll make you a deal. Why don't you let me out of these chains, and I will do my best to find her?"

To her credit, the Sorceress seemed to genuinely consider the offer, before her hopeful expression hardened.

"No deal. If you know of Ciri and myself, then you know the Emperor will have my head if I step out of line. You also know that, now that you can speak Nilfgardian, the torturers will get everything you know out of you in short order." She shook her head sadly. "The best I can offer you is a quick death before the torturer returns. Otherwise..."

"You'll drag the information you want out of my fresh, animated corpse?" A chill went down Yennifer's spine for the second time that night. She was going to say "otherwise you will just be condemning yourself to needless suffering," but... how? How did this man, who was not even of this world, know that she once dabbled in Necromancy? She had told no-one! Not even Geralt knew about her studies into _those_ arts.

"Thanks, but no thanks. In fact, I have a _counter-offer_ for your consideration." The prisoner continued before she had a chance to compose herself. "Get me out of these chains. Teleport me out of this dungeon," his gaze hardened "...or watch Emhyr, this Castle, and the whole damn countryside _die_."

Ah, and here come the desperation tactics, Yennifer thought. Not entirely unexpected, but disappointing nonetheless. She gave the prisoner an incredulous look, seemingly asking if he was mentally challenged.

"You have been tortured half to death, tied up in Dimeritium chains, shackled to a wall inside of one of the most secure locations in the Empire, and you are still delusional enough to presume you have the means to _threaten_ one of the most powerful _Sorceresses_ in the world? Worm. It seems torture or my spellwork have addled your mind."

The man simply smiled in response. "Let me tell you a little story, Milady. Once upon a time, there was a continent on my world called America, which was populated by a race called Native Americans. The Natives numbered over 112 million and lived happily and prosperously without outside interference…"

"Is there a point to this? Don't keep trying my patience with pointless riddles. I _can_ and _will_ interrogate your animated corpse if I have to."  
The man continued on, seemingly oblivious to the threatened violation of his soul.

"One day, however, the Natives' quiet lives were interrupted. They saw an ocean-going ship that arrived from a strange, faraway land, which brought with it people of an entirely different culture and language. Then, everything changed. Within just a score of years, entire civilizations that have stood proudly for centuries crumbled like a house of cards. Once mighty cultures were swallowed by the land and vanished without a trace, forgotten by history. The Natives died in such great numbers that, less than a hundred years after the encounter, scarcely six million souls could be found on the whole continent." The man's steely gaze met Yennifer's eyes.

"More than 100 million people were wiped out. Would you care to guess at the cause of their deaths?"

Yennifer looked at the hand she used to touch the prisoner's forehead for the language spell, before slowly paling and looking up at the man in quiet horror.

"Plague…," she whispered.

"That's right," the man nodded approvingly, "my body carries diseases that would make your famed Catriona plague look like a common cold by comparison. Diseases that I am immune to by virtue of _millennia_ of exposure, evolution, and applied scientific knowledge. Entire races of people from another _continent_ on my world lacked that resistance, and were nearly annihilated as a result." The man's smile was positively vicious as he stared at the Sorceress' blood-stained hand. "I wonder ... how much more lethal will the outcome be for people from a different _Plane_?"


	7. Interlude 1a Demonic Tutor

**Interlude 1.a, Demonic Tutor**

" _Do not overestimate your skills. A bee may be faster than a flower, but that doesn't make it a bolt of lightning."_

-Chiun the Magnificent, Grandmaster of Sinanju

 _Approximately Five Years Before the Prologue_

 _..._

Many mortal fools envy the Demons due to their great knowledge and power, and yet, Lilith thought, it is truly the height of irony that many of those same Demons envy the mortals in turn. What could the mortals possibly have that a Demon of Lilith's level could want, you ask? The answer is simpler than you think. Lilith, the Dark Mistress of the Astral Realms, the personification of the darker aspects of the Earth, Femininity, and Passion, One Who Stands Above a Million Demons, and one of the most powerful entities in the Universe, was bored out of her damned mind. The Astral realm was a-causal: its time didn't flow in quite the same way as it did in the material world. More specifically, Astral time didn't "flow" at all – rather, for an entity anchored in the Astral plane, its entire cluster of personal timelines, everything that a given being was and could ever be, was continuously collapsed into a single, endless moment of eternal existence. All potentiality that summed up a given entity, all of its thoughts, desires, plans, and experiences, all of it coexisted simultaneously in a manner unbound by concepts of "beginning" or "end." While more conventional beings were conceived, lived, aged, and died, a Greater Demon like her simply… was.

Complete. Undiminishable. Eternal.

Lilith found this state of affairs problematic. As one of the highest-ranking Greater Demons, she held phenomenal knowledge and godlike power. Her cosmic abilities were as powerful as they have ever been… but all this came at an unsavory cost. For, although the concepts of "weakness," "aging," and "death" were entirely foreign to her kind, so too were the concepts of "potential," "growth," "self-improvement," and "transcendence." Having _new_ experiences, creating _new_ memories, or even having _original thoughts_ was impossible for an Astrally-anchored being – after all, what originality could possibly exist when all of your possible pasts and futures have already been ( _are being, and will always be_ ) experienced? When, maddeningly self-aware, you are doomed to spend eternity in a meaningless, empty, ever-stagnant state?

By anchoring their core existences outside of the flow of time and causation, the Greater Demons made a terrible bargain with fate, accepting near-unlimited power and immortality in exchange for eternal stagnation and boredom. Lilith smirked at the incredible irony of it all. Although most mortal ideas of hell were grossly inaccurate, she couldn't help but think that if an objective idea for "hell" truly existed, surely spending an eternity as a Demon doomed to everlasting boredom and stagnation would qualify.

This was the true reason why Demons have always been (and will always be) interested in entering the Causal realms. The sensation of being bound by the flow of time, with the corresponding ability to _grow, change,_ and _evolve,_ has always been highly prized by all Astral entities, and especially by Demons. After all, existing in the Causal planes allows Demons to "cheat" their fate by keeping their incredible knowledge and cosmic powers while also having the ability to evolve and experience.

Unfortunately, by the very virtue of their Astral-anchored state, Demons are ( _were, will forever be_ ) barred from entering the Causal realms, and cannot do so on their own initiative. Instead, a Demon seeking to _experience_ cause and effect must be forcibly _pulled_ into the causal realm by someone whose existence is firmly anchored there.

The most straightforward (but not necessarily the easiest) way for a Demon to accomplish this is through summoning. Once manifested in the material world, a summoned Demon is subject to the flow of time and is then able to change, improve, and _experience_ their being according to the laws of cause and effect. Unfortunately, the energy requirements for a full manifestation in the physical realm – even for a few minutes at a time - are massive by any standards. Lilith doubted there was a single magician left in the world who would be able to supply enough power for a full corporeal manifestation of a minor Demon – and she held no illusions that even a full cabal of a hundred sorcerers could scrape up enough power to physically manifest a being of _her_ level _._ Not without sacrificing the life force of a couple hundred heads of cattle (or a dozen humans), anyway.

There was, however, a way to bypass the summoning process to make it less power-intensive. Instead of creating a new form for the Demon to inhabit, the summoner may instead provide an existing, living vessel already anchored to the world. This approach is more commonly known as Demonic Possession.

The possession route was significantly less power-intensive and more long-lasting, but it had its own share of problems. The first problem is also the most obvious one: two existences may not share one vessel on equal terms; rather, the essence of one must always completely subjugate the other. And yet, despite all their power, Demons are not anchored to the material world, meaning that, if the vessel is unwilling and actively fights the possession, the Demon will not be able to maintain control indefinitely. Regardless of the power of the summoned entity, in theory, an unwilling vessel will _eventually_ succeed in ousting the intruding demonic presence, even if takes months or years to fully do so. While several kinds of Pacts have been developed by Demonic scholars to partially alleviate this issue, the problem has never been resolved completely – after all, willingly surrendering control over one's body and mind in defiance of all basic self-preservation instincts is not something most intelligent beings would ever do.

Of course, there are significant problems even with possession of _willing_ vessels. Greater Demons are extremely powerful beings, having a kind of **weight** to their existence that is lacking in most causal beings. For a typical mortal body, attempting to host the full mental and metaphysical power of such a presence could be compared to a 1980s computer attempting to run Oculus Rift. Even if the feat were somehow possible, the mortal body will simply fail under the strain – usually sooner rather than later.

And so, Lilith was resigned to her boredom, anchored in her eternal astral existence. She was resigned to knowing that she will never again be summoned to physical manifestation, resigned to the fact that she will never manage to attain a permanent anchor in the material world…

...

And then, everything changed.

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It started with a _ripple_ that propagated through the entire Astral plane, objectively a very minor disturbance originating with one of Lilith's subordinate entities. Yet, for the second time in a literal eternity _,_ Lilith felt something _new_ without leaving her home plane. Although this should not have been possible, Lilith realized that she was experiencing _surprise._

Giddy with excitement from the novelty of the experience, and already trying to figure out how she could turn the situation to her advantage, Lilith focused on the source of the disturbance, tracking it down to an _Opis Naturae_ , one of the multitudes of minor spirits under her command. While this was not unusual in and of itself, the remarkable aspect of the summoning was the sheer amount of _power_ that was being channeled. Lilith could hardly believe what her senses were telling her – the energy output she was seeing would not have been out of place for a group of twenty or so magicians pulling their resources together to summon a mid-tier elemental. Seeing a single practitioner throwing this much energy at a minor treasure spirit? Preposterous! Examining the spell matrix a bit closer, Lilith became even more excited after she realized just where the power for the summoning ritual was coming from... because the _manner_ in which the _Opis Naturae_ got summoned was even more ridiculous than then amount of power being used.

Summoning is an extremely energy-intensive art. Thus, historically, magicians have often tried to "cheat" the system either by making the process more efficient through the use of foci and formalized ritual, by storing power for later use in magical artifacts, or by borrowing magic from other sources, such as leylines. Of all such methods, the sacrifice of human or animal blood was considered one of the most blood is a metaphysical representation of life, blood sacrifice worked by virtue of forging a powerful sympathetic link between the ongoing ritual and the Sacrifice's entire well of life force. In this way, life force may be used as a finite but extremely potent source of power supplementing a magician's own efforts. Unfortunately, blood-powered rituals are significantly more volatile than rituals powered by other means. This is because, once the sympathetic link is forged, the power transfer can only be halted through one of two ways: 1) completion of the linked magical working, or 2) utter exhaustion of the power source. Needless to say, if a magician uses a living source of blood to power a working, "utter exhaustion of the power source" translates to a dead body at the ritual's conclusion.

Lilith thought the manner of the summoning was more than a little eccentric because the summoner sacrificed _his own_ blood on a _minor_ summoning ritual _without a clear end-goal for completion_. All those fancy summoning circles and formal requirements most mortal magicians liked so much were not just for show. Formalism imposed structured, pre-defined boundaries on the ritual working and minimized the number of things that could go wrong. In this case, without a clear parameter defining "successful completion" for the ritual, the sympathetic blood link would remain active indefinitely until the corresponding life-well powering it ran out. What task could possibly be important enough for a practitioner to be willing to risk killing himself over?

Lilith could only think of two reasons. Either the summoner was a complete idiot, (sadly, always a possibility), or he had access to _so much_ life force that he simply didn't care about using it for power. In other words, the summoner was either a complete, and soon to be dead, amateur, or, alternatively, a mighty but eccentric mage with far, _far_ more power than common sense. Either scenario would prove entertaining. Who knows, Lilith thought to herself, she might be able to get an anchoring artifact or a few years of possession out of the deal. And, if her target was desperate enough, she might even be able to negotiate for a first-born! Possessing babies before they had a chance to develop a personality was simply the _best;_ their bodies could adapt and thus lasted _so_ much longer than adults under the strain! There were so many enticing possibilities!

A few days of real-time and a subjective eternity later, Lilith became even more excited about her target. The summoner was definitely an amateur, but something told her he was different from a run-of-the-mill mage. For one thing, his life total was simply _insane_ – even though the summoned _Opis_ was classified as a minor entity, keeping her fully manifested, even for a few hours at a time, would have been taxing even for an archmage-level practitioner. Whoever this person was, he managed to continuously keep the _Opis_ fully manifested for _two straight weeks_. Any normal human would have lapsed into a coma a dozen times over, but this one? He didn't even seem to notice the strain! Could he have a life-force pool so vast that the power loss seemed insignificant? Or did the magician have some way of replenishing his reserves faster than they were getting drained away?

After co-opting the summoned _Opis Naturae's_ senses and observing the subject closer, Lilith was able to come up with an answer, which turned out to be a combination of the two possibilities. Through some unknown means, the mysterious mage possessed an aura that naturally mimicked a weaker version of the classic _drain life_ spell, continuously stealing small amounts of life force from every living creature within a respectable radius. Judging from the mage's vastly increased life reserves, she guessed the _drain life_ aura has been in effect for years, since childhood at the very least. How fascinating! It probably started out as a survival mechanism of some kind, and Lilith wondered what the human had to go through to force his body to produce _that_ kind of aura as a child. Whatever the original cause was, she regretted not being there to observe the fun.

Lilith observed as the mortal gave generalized directions to his summon, almost cringing at how naive the mage was in his interactions with an unknown entity. What _was_ it with mortal mages and a lack of wisdom? It almost seemed like there was an inversely proportional relationship between level of talent and common sense! At this rate, she thought, possessing a baby might prove more of a challenge than manipulating someone _this_ trusting.

Finally, her big chance had arrived! The foolish mage gave his summon, a subordinate of Lilith's realm, an instruction to use "any means" to ensure his safety. She normally wouldn't be able to do this, but the wide-open nature and lack of formalism for the initial summoning ritual meant she now had an opening to tag along using the established blood link. All she had to do was widen the connection just a bit, pull in some of that _power_ , and…

Ahhhhh…..

The sensation of manifesting in the physical world was incredible. Reflexively stretching the local time-stream to gain control of the situation (wouldn't you know it, there's _lots_ of time like the present!), Lilith positioned herself on top of the mortal vehicle in the most alluring way she could come up with. Image was important, after all.

"Oh _well_ done, mortal. Would you just look at the wonderful mess you've gotten yourself into."

Now, to understand Lilith's surprise at what happened next, one has to understand the way manifested Demonic entities interact with mortal perceptions. When a mortal meets another mortal, his mind undergoes a two-step process: firstly, the senses perceive that person, and secondly, the mind interprets the sensory information to arrive at some psychological conclusion – that the perceived person is beautiful, ugly, trustworthy, annoying, or a myriad of other possible impressions.

The Astral plane, however, is not a physical realm that has things like "sensory information," but rather, a realm of pure thought. It is a realm where perception _is_ _equivalent_ to being. Thus, when a Demon meets another Demon, the above two-step process gets cut down to a single step. Demons have no need to bother with pointless drama involving interpretation of sensory data. Instead, Demonic psychological impressions about each other – that the perceived being is Beautiful, Ugly, Trustworthy, or Annoying – get written directly onto the fabric of the universe, becoming legitimate Aspects of Reality. In this way, Demons are able to Perceive and Understand each other instantly and directly rather than relying on sensory filters. Some Demons are able to take this step further and alter their aura at will, changing the way they reverberate in the universe with the same ease that a mortal might put on makeup or change their clothing. For the goblin-like _Opis Naturae_ , for example, it was currently considered fashionable to be perceived as cute and nonthreatening, which is why the summoner's " _Opi_ " took the form of a young girl that had the aspect of Adorable permanently associated with her manifested form.

Now, when a _mortal_ perceives a fully manifested _Demon_ , things get more unpredictable. The Demonic aura dictating the way the being should be Perceived in the universe still functions perfectly, but the mortal mind, so used to interpreting traditional sensory information, lacks the ability to cope when faced with trying to perceive Aspects of Reality directly. This typically results in at least one of three outcomes: the mortal mind 1) shuts down entirely, 2) goes insane trying to comprehend what it is seeing, or, more commonly, 3) becomes twisted and irrevocably controlled by the Perception. The mortal magicians called the latter effect Glamor, and have developed many spells, techniques, and safeguards in order to protect the minds of practitioners specializing in summoning otherworldly entities.

Lilith's Glamor effect was one of the most powerful on record. Her passive presence alone, currently associated with the aspect of Attractiveness, was sufficient to reduce even the most disciplined individuals to fanatical followers or drooling idiots. The merest whisper of her voice was enough to make most mortals pledge their eternal service to her. The barest touch was enough to drive mortals insane, regardless of metaphysical protections. The last time she was summoned, she manifested in a specially-prepared, warded, sound-proofed ritual chamber in a middle of thirty-two protective circles, and her summoners were all blindfolded in order to avoid accidentally looking at her form. Judging by the way the summoner in front of her was staring at her body, her target certainly had no knowledge of the risks, nor the benefit of any special protections…

"Forgive me, I do not mean to offend… but who, exactly, are you? And how are you here?"

...which is why Lilith had to actively hide her shock when the mage managed to speak in a coherent manner. She had been looking forward to enthralling a powerful but foolish practitioner, but this? This was unexpected, and, therefore, _interesting._

"Oh, you silly, _silly_ boy… That is just adorable. Did you really order a low-tier blood-bound demon you summoned to use _any means_ to keep you safe and expect said demon _not_ to call for reinforcements from its superiors? That was quite an interesting ritual you performed, by the way – I don't normally deal with the small stuff personally unless evoked by name, but then, I haven't dealt with a sorcerer willing to sacrifice his own blood in _centuries_. You were so interesting, I just _had_ to take a look for myself."

Lilith wondered if the summoner's apparent resistance to Glamor was a mere fluke or an ability limited to the more passive perception of sight and sound. Fortunately, she wasn't in the middle of thirty two protective circles this time, so there was an easy way to find out! With a smirk, she teleported behind the mage, passionately pressing her body against his and whispering huskily into his ear.

"You broke protocol, you know. Summoners are expected to ask permission from a corresponding Demon Lord before summoning spirits from their realm."

Lilith could feel the mortal's body responding, a little disappointed that her attempt at enthrallment worked so easily. It was to be expected, she supposed. After all, no mortal mind could truly hope to stand up to the weight of her manifested presence. Soon enough, this mage will become little more than drooling putty in her hands, ready to worship her and...

"How does the whole time-freezing thing work, anyway?" the summoner said, turning to face Lilith and looking directly into her eyes. "Is it brute-force space-time manipulation or do you just cast a glamor at all the observers to make them _think_ time is running in slow motion?"

…

What?

…

Lilith couldn't hide her shock as her mind briefly shut down to process the utter _impossibility_ of what just occurred. Then she burst out in a genuine laughter at her amazing good fortune and incredible luck. Truthfully, she didn't harbor high expectations when she materialized before this man, hoping to gain a temporary mage thrall at best or brief amusement at worst. But, if this man was an ordinary mortal mage, then she was a garden gnome. No, she could feel this man's potential, and knew that a Pact with him could change _everything_.

She would offer the Pact of the Seven Blessings - training the man, sharing secrets of earthly and demonic magic, and bestowing the right to call upon her power and the power of the Million Spirits she commanded. And in return, she would use this man to achieve her own dreams. She would finally transcend fate itself and become the first Demon to permanently anchor her existence to multiple realities. Her victory was now inevitable. Yes...

To never die, and to conquer all.

That's what winning was all about.


	8. Chapter 1,4 Prison Break (Parts 1 and 2)

**Chapter 1.4: Prison Break (Part 1)**

" _They say the best revenge is living well. Not true. The best revenge is revenge."_

 _ **\- Chiun the Magnificent, Grandmaster of Sinanju**_

As I slowly brought myself back to awareness, I was greeted with the lovely, purple-eyed visage belonging to a tense-looking Sorceress. Hello there, Yen! Looking pretty good for someone over 95! I decided to start a conversation to give myself a bit of time to figure out how to get past the Dimeritium. I was pretty sure I was close to a breakthrough.

"Yennefer of Vengerberg," goddamn if that wasn't a badass name, "that was a wonderful bit of spellwork, but, I am sure you are not here for a casual chat. To what do I owe the _pleasure_ of such distinguished company?" I needed a few more minutes to figure out how to get out of here, I thought I might have been on to something with using life force to power spells.

"You know me." Gods, but she looked supernaturally cute when she frowned like that. I could see why Geralt stayed interested in this woman for all of those years despite her bitchy attitude. Then again, I've seen better – when you've studied magic under a literal Personification of Human Desire for five years, supernatural attractiveness kinda loses its novelty after awhile.

"I know _of_ you, yes. Dandelion's ballads of your exploits have reached many ears, in this and many other worlds." Dandelion was a famous bard and best friend to the protagonist of the Witcher games, the professional monster slayer Geralt of Rivia. He probably knows more than most about this world – gotta remember to pay him a visit after I get out of here.

"Other worlds? You are not of this world, then? The ritual that brought you here wasn't meant to summon a person, but rather, a spirit of knowledge. Do you know how you came to be here?" Goddammit, another mishap due to botched summoning ritual – unbelievably, something similar already happened to me once before, in my own world. Somehow, due to the blood link with Lilith and the Demonic Arts she taught me over the years, many of the cruder summoning rituals now incorrectly identify me as a Demon. The looks on those Monks' faces when I waltzed out of their protective circles was hilarious – I wished I'd had my camera phone with me.

I smiled mysteriously as I felt a trickle of power gathering just under my skin. _Let's see if I can put those Demonic Arts to good use and get dear, sweet Yen to let me out of these restraints._

"Who knows? Maybe the mages performing your ritual screwed up. Maybe the stars were aligned incorrectly. _Alright,_ h _ere we go!_ All I know is that I am here, and I would rather be elsewhere. _Demonic Art: GlamorIs it really necessary to restrain me so? I am no threat to you, and mean you no harm_." If the technique worked, it would have temporarily imbued my aura with the Aspects of Trustworthiness and Authority, making it impossible to listen to my words without wanting to do what I asked.

The Sorceress paced across the room impatiently. "If you know me, then you may know of the one I seek. Cirilla. Do you know where she is?" Oh, damn it all! I could do nothing but laugh in the face of my failure – of _course_ it wouldn't be that easy. I could feel the spell trying to form, but the Dimeritium unraveled it shortly after it got past my skin. Looks like I couldn't target the shackles while bound by them, and also couldn't direct a spell outward. Is there a different approach I could try?

Yennefer looked impatient – I guessed I should try to continue the conversation.

"Ah, the Ashen Haired Girl. The Lady of Time and Space. If she is the one you seek, then I may indeed be able to help you. _Hmm, let's try this again with a bit more power this time._ I'll make you a deal. _Demonic Art: GLAMORWhy don't you let me out of these chains, and I will do my best to find her?_ "

The spell actually seemed to form that time, but it was incredibly weak and fell apart an instant later. Well, I guess brute force won't help me here. Maybe there was another way I could explore? I felt like I was overlooking something obvious.

"No deal. If you know of Ciri and myself, then you know the Emperor will have my head if I step out of line. You also know that, now that you can speak Nilfgardian, the torturers will get everything you know out of you in short order." _Really_ , Yennefer? You are going to threaten me to get what you want? I must confess, I was rather disappointed with her – and hey, is that Blood I could see on her hand? That has to be my blood from when she touched my forehead, right?

"The best I can offer you is a quick death before the torturer returns. Otherwise..." Thinking quickly, I knew I had to say something to get her off-balance.

"You'll drag the information you want out of my fresh, animated corpse?" Ah, Necromancy, the magical art with the ultimate goal of finding a way to defy death. At first, I was excited to study the Art under a Demon who has probably forgotten more about magic than someone like Yen could learn in a dozen lifetimes. But honestly? Now, five years later, I felt like necromancy didn't quite live up to its hype. Sure, after years of study, my definition of "death" got expanded from "target has no heart beat" to "no sympathetic link to the soul, _**and**_ target's body is disintegrated beyond repair" - I could now use the black energies to instantly cure most diseases or even fully revive the recently (and not-so-recently) "deceased" without too much difficulty. Still, you would think that, after thousands of years of experimentation and Demonic Pacts, _someone_ would have come up with a way to secure permanent immortality without turning into a living skeleton. What's the point of "living" forever if you can't even experience life any more? Now, time manipulation, on the other hand? THAT I considered to be a truly impressive ability.

"Thanks, but no thanks. In fact, I have a _counter-offer_ for your consideration." I continued the verbal pressure on Yen before she had a chance to compose herself. "Get me out of these chains. Teleport me out of this dungeon...or watch Emhyr, this Castle, and the whole damn countryside _die_."

Let me tell you, there's nothing like an unexpected death threat to put someone off-balance. Now, all I needed was a minute to figure out how to channel my magic through the blood on Yen's hand, and I would be out of here in no time. Spiritually and metaphysically speaking, that blood is still classified as "my body," the physical separation is completely irrelevant – that's blood magic 101, and I couldn't believe I haven't tried this sooner. In theory, I _should_ be able to channel a spell directly from those blood droplets on her hand. The blood probably won't last for long, especially if I start channeling magic into it. Also, once Yen gets alerted to what I am doing, she would probably zap first and ask questions later. I would only have one shot at this.

"You have been tortured half to death, tied up in Dimeritium chains, shackled to a wall inside of one of the most secure locations in the Empire, and you are delusional enough to presume you have the means to _threaten_ one of the most powerful _Sorceresses_ in the world? Worm. It seems torture or my spellwork have addled your mind."

Now, to come up with some plausible-sounding bullshit to keep her thinking and occupied while I figure out how to channel through that blood-link. Ah, there's a good story!

"Let me tell you a little story, Milady. Once upon a time, there was a continent on my world called America, which was populated by a race called Native Americans. The Natives numbered over 112 million and lived happily and prosperously without outside interference…" Never thought I'd say this, but I am _so_ glad I sat through that History class in college!

"Is there a point to this? Don't keep trying my patience with pointless riddles. I _can_ and _will_ interrogate your animated corpse if I have to." Really, Yen? You think an _actual_ Necromancer finds your ability to temporarily animate a corpse impressive? You'd last all of five seconds against me if I were out of these chains – and I'd probably spend four of those seconds critiquing your technique. Oh well, on with the story time! I can feel myself getting close.

"One day, however, the Natives' quiet lives were interrupted. They saw an ocean-going ship that arrived from a strange, faraway land, which brought with it people of an entirely different culture and language. Then, everything changed. _Looks like I can feel the blood connection now._ Within just a score of years, entire civilizations that have stood proudly for centuries crumbled like a house of cards. _Almost got it._ Once mighty cultures were swallowed by the land and vanished without a trace, forgotten by history. _Almost... got it!_ The Natives died in such great numbers that, less than a hundred years after the encounter, scarcely six million souls could be found on the whole continent."

I looked into Yen's eyes while "pinging" the connection to my blood on her hand. I could only smile when I felt the results. _Let's see if this works now. Demonic Art: Glamor_

"More than 100 million people were wiped out. Would you care to guess at the cause of their deaths?"

Yennefer looked at the hand she used to touch my forehead for the language spell, before slowly paling and looking up at me in quiet horror.

"Plague…," she whispered.

Ha! Take THAT, magic-dampening metal! Looks like the channeled Fear/Authority Glamor worked like a charm.

"That's right. My body carries diseases that would make your famed Catriona plague look like a common cold by comparison. Diseases that I am immune to by virtue of millenia of exposure and evolution. Entire races of people from another continent on my world lacked that in-born resistance, and were nearly annihilated as a result. How much more lethal will the outcome be for people from a different plane?"

I was really proud of myself – my distraction story wasn't even 100% bullshit! For all I knew, even something as simple as the common cold virus from my home plane could kill off their entire population, and the torturers could currently be in their incubation periods. I can't say I'd be particularly distressed if that were the case.

"But rejoice! For the so-called ritual you performed wasn't a total failure. I _do_ possess medical knowledge to cure those diseases and more! But, I am afraid I can't teach that knowledge to someone in a few hours or even a few days. If you want to survive, if you want this City to survive, you will have to keep me alive and unharmed. That means getting me out of these restraints and into better accommodations. Right now."

Yennefer looked thoughtful – dammit, she wasn't supposed to be _thinking_ about this. Was she resisting my Glamor? That's… actually a little impressive, but not at all helpful at the moment.

"I can ensure that you receive care and are not tortured further until I have the chance to brief Emhyr on the situation. If what you are saying is true, the consequences of killing you would be too dire to contemplate. I have no authority to release you myself, but, I am sure the Emperor will see the wisdom in your offer to cooperate."

Yeah. And "the Emperor" could also decide to execute me and the torturers, burn the bodies, and teleport north to Visima to avoid the outbreak if it does occur. Sorry, Yen, but I just can't take that chance. I aggressively tapped into my life force to form a spell, and Yennefer's eyes widened at the buildup of magical energy. She tried to cast something – a stunning spell, most likely – but she was simply too slow.

Among the mind-affecting spells I've been taught, Word of Command is to Glamor as a Sledgehammer is to a Feather. All attempts at subtlety are sacrificed in exchange for momentary crushing power capable of giving a magician absolute control over the targeted person - for seconds or even minutes at a time. As the tiny drops of blood on Yennefer's hand glowed with Eldritch energies, I felt my awareness expand _through_ the blood and into the attached body. In an instant, the sorceress' consciousness was pushed to the side as I took the metaphorical driver's seat. I skipped through the montage of her thoughts and memories (huh, it looks like she really does love Ciri and Geralt), knowing that my time in control was probably limited to a few seconds. That was alright, however, since I could put that time to great use.

I raised my puppet's hands and weaved a quick _Shatter_ at the chains, preparing to follow up with half a dozen different spells in case the initial "direct" approach didn't work. I needn't have worried: the spell, given the chance to fully form, worked exactly as advertized, happily pulverizing the Dimeritium metal while giving a metaphorical middle finger to its vaunted magic-dampening properties.I quickly released the control enchantment and

...rose to my feet, basking in the luxurious feeling of my full powers responding to me once again. I could already feel the veritable flood of black mana restoring my body and refreshing my mind, some wounds healing so quickly that they emitted honest-to-goodness steam as they closed.

Yennefer, on the other hand, wasn't doing too hot – she was collapsed on her knees and looked green, physically ill from the feeling of foreign magic invading her body. She gagged as she looked up at me in time to catch the sight of a new eye rapidly reforming in its empty socket.

"What… eugh… did you do... to me?" Sorry Yen, but your temporary discomfort was a small price to pay for my getting out of this nightmare torture dungeon. You'd probably do that and worse if you were in my shoes.

"Why my dear, I gave you the opportunity to be the first sorceress on this world to successfully cast anti-Dimeritium magic." I responded as I glanced down at her while calmly walking to the door. "You're welcome."

Suddenly, said door opened to reveal one of my torturers accompanied by two assistants, who proceeded to stare dumbly at their unshackled, uninjured, widely-grinning prisoner and the rapidly dissipating cloud of metallic dust that used to be his Dimeritium restraints.

"Surprise, Motherfuckers!"

My upbeat, delighted expression was probably terrifying.

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 **Chapter 1.4: Prison Break (Part 2)**

" _They've got us surrounded again, the poor bastards."_

 _ **\- Creighton W. Abrams**_

 _Suddenly, said door opened to reveal one of my torturers accompanied by two assistants, who proceeded to stare dumbly at their unshackled, uninjured, widely-grinning prisoner and the rapidly dissipating cloud of metallic dust that used to be his Dimeritium restraints._

" _Surprise, Motherfuckers!"_

 _My upbeat, delighted expression was probably terrifying._

I heard shouting from the guard beyond the door – he must have run off to get reinforcements. I couldn't bring myself to be particularly worried.

The torturer assistants made a valiant attempt to fan out and surround me, dying an instant later courtesy of a quick _Drain Life_ spell that made Yen noisily lose her lunch. The interrogator extraordinaire himself, a fat, sadistic piece of work who removed my fingernails earlier, elected to charge me head on, possibly hoping for his enormous bulk to be useful in a fight. I suppressed a sigh of disappointment – really, you are charging a wizard capable of bending _time_ and resurrecting the _dead_ – and you think you are going to, what, punch them into submission? Oh well, if it was a physical confrontation he wanted, I guessed I may as well oblige.

 _Unholy Strength Unholy Strength Unholy Strength_ Overpower _that,_ bitch.

The veins in my entire body glowed with a distinct purple light, lighting up my skin from the inside, while actual smoke was slowly raising from my eyes. I intercepted the torturer's charge with a palm grab to the face, absorbing his momentum in an instant and throwing his body against a nearby wall as if it weighed nothing. Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to lift him up off the ground.

"Torturing me was an exceptionally stupid idea. Maybe I should poke around in your mind a bit, find out who put you up to it?" A barbed tendril of ethereal darkness emerged out of my spine, its tip hovering precariously near my prey's eye. "Don't worry, this will only hurt a lot." The scent of urine assaulted my senses as the coward pissed himself. Before I could make good on my promise, however, I felt a magical disturbance behind me. Not bothering to turn around to face it, I tilted my head to catch what was going on through peripheral vision.

Huh, apparently Yennefer wasn't finished with me yet – hovering two feet off the ground in a glowing cloud of magical energy, her hair and dress blowing in an unseen wind, even I had to admit she looked like a badass. I absently redirected two lightning bolts into the ceiling, which caused a bit of molten rock and debris to rain down around the chamber.

"Sorry love, I don't have time to play with you right now – things to do, places to be, y'understand – but, since you want to play with _someone_ so badly..."

I could have finished the battle in an instant with any number of spells, of course, but I didn't see any need to kill or even seriously hurt Yen. After briefly looking through her mind in the few seconds afforded to me, I knew that she played no part in my treatment and actually found it distasteful. On the other hand, she was willing to do distasteful things to protect Ciri, who she considered family – but that was a quality that I respected and actually admired. So, rather than attacking the sorceress directly, I sent a pulse of magic at the two dead bodies in the room. What I was doing wasn't "true" necromancy in the sense that I wasn't completely bringing someone back from the dead and into a living, fully functional body; rather, it was corpse animation using a psychic echo of the deceased – a mere parlor trick by my standards. Still, the paling, terrified look on Yen's face when the corpses began to rise and walk towards her was magical to behold. Before fully turning back to my impromptu test subject, I absently sent the corpses instructions not to hurt Yen too much, along with enough magic to reassemble themselves the first twelve times they were "killed." That ought to keep her occupied for awhile.

Hmm, I could hear the guards approaching in force; it looks like I don't have as much time to play around as I thought. Oh well, the quicker way it is, then: I cast a spell of my own invention at the torturer. _Endless Screams_ is a powerful psychic curse that works by trapping the victim in the worst personal hell they can imagine: the greater the target's cruelty and imagination, the worse the experience. Judging by the way my former torturer was clawing at his own eyes, he could obviously imagine quite a bit. Ah, but that wasn't the best part – the part that makes the screams "endless" is that the victim's death doesn't get rid of the curse. Instead, if the victim is killed, the curse will immediately jump to the killer, while, if the victim dies of "natural" causes, the curse will instead latch on to the cruelest and most imaginative target available within its range. But wait, there's more! Attempting to get rid of the curse through magical means, if done incorrectly, results in the curse actually _copying itself_ , with the copy then latching onto the closest available target with compatible character attributes. Fun stuff, right? Hey, what can I say? I am a genius when it comes to these sorts of techniques.

Yen refused to keep playing with the toys I so generously provided and instead decided to teleport out. It's a smart decision, but I am a bit disappointed she hasn't tried to hit me with anything too problematic – I expected more out of her, somehow. I walked out of the cell to the sight of eight soldiers moving towards my position, armed guards cutting off possible escape from both sides of the corridor. It would have been an effective tactic against most opponents, but, what do I care for their numbers? All they were doing is giving me more "raw materials" to work with. A wave of my hand drained the life out of the poor bastards in visible streams of darkness.

 **Expergiscere, excitare, excitare.**

Another wave, and the fresh corpses rose in an embrace of un-death, with orders to fan out and cause as much havoc as possible. Unhurried, I walk towards the stairs to the upper floors. Now that I wasn't being tortured into madness, I decided this plane – my seventh Walk - really was a fascinating place to land. Not only was magic much thicker here, but so too did Death have much more substance. This whole reality was practically steeped in black mana – and even an un-directed, ambient aura was enough to give deceased souls tangible, physical substance. This was very strange but welcome change for a necromancer such as myself, since I spent most of my life on a magic-deficient plane. In my home realm, genuine ghosts were as rare as talented magicians. Out here, though? The spirits were absolutely _everywhere_. Even while simply walking through the dungeons, I could already feel the echoes of dozens ( _hundreds, thousands_ ) who have died here throughout the centuries. Smirking, I began to gather my power to weave a Curse upon this place that would make the battlefield curse featured in Witcher 2 look like a friendly prank by comparison. After all, my pride demanded extraction of an appropriate penance for the pain and indignity I endured. Making this city and the surrounding countryside uninhabitable for the next thousand years seems fair, right?


End file.
